


Take Me Out

by deucalionsvision



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sports, Baseball, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, POV Ian Gallagher, Poor baseball knowledge, Sports, there's gonna be Ian/Mickey/OFC but it's not what you think just trust me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deucalionsvision/pseuds/deucalionsvision
Summary: Rising baseball star Mickey Milkovich just got traded back to his home city of Chicago to play for the White Sox. Also, probably to punish Ian for his hubris, because shortstop Ian Gallagher has had a massive crush on the man -who he has never met- for about a year now. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Take Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! This is my first work for Shameless even though I've read probably 80% of the fanfics ever written about gallavich, I've never written it. Constructive criticism is wildly helpful, so please do give feedback! This is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. I would also like to say right here and now that my baseball knowledge isn't terrible but it's not great, so suspend your disbelief a bit. Some of my chapters are shorter, and some are longer, I have no consistency and for that I am sorry. Also Mickey being a pitcher is my favorite stroke of dramatic irony. Hope you enjoy! x June

When Ian finally woke up that Saturday morning, his head was killing him. A pulsing, throbbing pain had taken hold of his head and he was certain he might die before he even opened his eyes. His throat was dry as fuck and his body was sore all over.

They had just won the ALC division championship for the first time in a decade, and the team had gone out to celebrate at some fancy club that Ian had heard of but steered clear of during the season.

Now, he felt like he was a corpse, and his memory of anything that had happened last night was only coming back in hazy flashes of heavy base and purple lights.

He willed himself to blink his eyes open, thanking whoever the fuck for having the good sense to pull the curtains of the hotel mostly shut so only a sliver of the morning shone through into the room. He blinked a couple times, went to run his hand across his face when he realized there was something weighty holding it down. This was when Ian registered he was not alone in this bed.

Ian looked down to see an arm thrown across his chest, the rest of the person starfished out on the other side and buried underneath mountains of fluffy white comforter.

It was at that moment Ian started to curse out the universe, because the arm was male (obviously) and he had promised their reps not to get slutty this season, but even worse: the hand that was currently resting on Ian’s abs had the tell-tale “U-UP” printed across the knuckles. Ian was definitely going to die, but at least his eyes were open now.

_But let’s take it back to the beginning…_

***

Ian was the star player of the White Sox. Everyone knew it, it wasn’t him being cocky, he just was. He’d been carrying the team for the three years they’d been there, slowly moving up the rankings enough to actually bring in other insane players.

Being so important, he was told of team happenings -both professional and recreational- first. Like when he got called into the manager’s office after practice one day.

He had walked up, sweat still clinging to his practice clothes, and plopped himself in the scratchy green chairs Gale, the manager, insisted on keeping. Ian was pretty sure it was because no one would want to stay long if they had to sit in them.

“Ian!” Gale shouted, full of glee. He pushed aside the laptop he had been working on and took of his glasses (that made him look like 2020 Bill Clinton, if you asked Ian, but he was over the whole grandpa thing, don’t worry).

“Hey, so what’s going on?” Ian asked, pushing a few strands of red hair out of his eyes.

“I just wanted to let you know we’re bringing in a new guy, so you know, make him feel welcome and all that. Between you and me, I think with him, we’ve got a shot.” Gale spoke with that glint in his eye he only gets when he’s about to do something that he either thinks is amazing, or thinks is gonna ruin your life. He’s kind of a sadist. But he liked Ian, so it was usually fine.

“Which guy?”

There had been talks about a few different trades and deals with Michaels retirement (long overdue) a few weeks ago. They’d been making trades throughout the summer, and Ian had a good feeling about the season. He wasn’t the only player who could actually, y’know, consistently hit the ball without it flying right into a glove anymore.

“Mikhailo Milkovich.”

Ian froze, for just a moment, before putting his air of casualty back on.

That’s great! When’ll he be here?”

“Tomorrow. Now go shower, you stink, and get some rest!” Gale yelled, shooing him away with a hand in dismissal.

Ian gladly took it, bolting out of that room as fast as he could.

Fucking Milkovich. Did someone in the universe hate him or something? He didn’t go to church, more of a spiritual guy, but did he piss off some god? Okay, he was being a drama queen. He knew. Milkovich was a fucking fantastic pitcher and they really needed one.

Getting him was a good thing.

He was a rising star.

He was also the star of most of Ian’s wet dreams. He’d had a massive crush on the guy for like a year. And even _worse,_ his sister was Ian’s best friend. See, Mandy Milkovich went to the same public high school as Ian did in the heart of Southside Chicago. Her and Ian bonded after he politely told her he was gay and was not cool with finger-banging her in the park, which Mandy took in stride.

He had never met her brother, who was on scholarship at some fancy feeder school upstate. He knew he played baseball, because Mandy would pretend to be dead any time he’d start talking too much about the game, claiming she heard too much about it over breaks already.

Also because the asshole was like three years older than him and was always in the newspapers, even the ones that came all the way to Wallace St. So, yeah, he kind of knew him, but had never met him, and had quietly nursed a major heart boner over the pictures and interviews and social media accounts he -very lowkey- kept up with. Mickey was just straight up. He didn’t care about press or his image, he was just…good at baseball. Fuck, Ian was so fucked.

When he slid into his car after showering, he commanded it to call Mandy. The car agreed, because some things in Ian’s life were dependable, and Ian was greeted with

“What’s up fuckface?”

“Hey uh Mandy did you uh forget to mention anything to me? Recently?”

“Don't worry, I’m not pregnant,” she told him, loudly chewing something very close to the microphone.

“Not what I was asking.” He adored Mandy but she also gave him heartburn.

“Ohhhhhhh,” Mandy breathed. “You mean my big bro joining the Sox?”

“You bitch,” Ian hissed at her.

Mandy didn’t know the extent of his crush, he’d like to think, but she was definitely aware Ian had been carrying a torch for her brother for a while. She’d never tell, mostly because Ian was pretty sure she was more loyal to him than Mickey, and also Mickey screamed straight-boy.

“I didn’t know it was a done deal until this morning, I swear! I just got a one-line text from him at like eleven saying ‘ _Coming back to Chi, skank, work on your tan if you want people to think we’re related_ ’ and you get up at the crack of dawn.”

Okay, Ian could see her point.

“Yeah, alright, I forgive you. I’m pulling up to the apartment, I’ll see you in a few.”

“I’m out right now but I’ll be back later for your girly vent session, don’t worry. Love you!” she squealed and then the line went dead.

Ian sighed as he parked in his reserved spot.

Without thinking, he leaned back and pulled up Mickey’s instagram, @officialmm. There it was, a picture of Mickey throwing a fastball with big white letters saying ‘Welcome Back to Chicago, Mickey!” across the bottom. He admired the scowl on his face, barely visible underneath the shadow of his hat, and the way his ass perfectly filled out his pants. Ian scrolled to the caption. ‘ _Texas has been great to me, but I think it’s time to go home. See you soon._ ’

He was so fucked.

*****

Mickey Milkovich was a grade-A asshole.

Okay, Mandy had been saying that for the past ten years, Ian knew that. Ian watched enough of his videos to know he was brisk, sarcastic, and generally not in the mood for people. But he was his teammate! Shouldn’t he be nice to him? Ian saw him laughing with Figuroa and Bentley!

But no. He was a dick to Ian, for whatever reason.

He had watched Mickey warm up with their catcher before practice started. Ian was already done for the day, having gotten his practice hours in earlier, but he wanted to stay and do what Gale asked and make him feel welcome.

The guys were having a hard time getting a hit off of him, and Ian worried he had legit heart eyes on his face as he watched Mickey strike out even some of their best players. Obviously, they didn’t suck now, so it wasn’t like they were completely dominated by the pitcher. But damn, he looked even better in person. Texas had been kind to him, tanning his previously ultra pale skin till it was nice and peachy, and Ian would bet it was even all over. Plenty of time to sun yourself with more hours of daylight. His eyes were also so, so blue in person. And also coming a lot closer to him. Rapidly.

“The fuck are you lookin at?” He grumped, shoving past where Ian was posted up in the dugout to grab the water he had in his bag.

“Oh- I- uh, nothing. I just wanted to stick around for awhile after BP to introduce myself,” Ian recovered nicely, in his opinion. He flashed a friendly smile at the other man, who raised his eyebrows at him as he chugged water.

Ian did _not_ watch his throat as he did it.

“Aight go ahead then,” Mickey responded, sweeping his hand out.

Ian did _not_ let himself get annoyed by that. He knew Mickey knew who he was. Shouldn’t Mickey be the one introducing _him_ self anyway, he was the new one, he should be trying to make friends.

Ian’s smile got tighter. “Nice to meet you, I’m Ian Gallagher, I play shortstop,” he stuck out a hand.

Mickey shook it. Ian wondered how such tiny hands could even wrap around a baseball, let alone be good at throwing it.

“Glad you got that off your chest, huh? See you around, Red.” He clapped Ian on the shoulder patronizingly.

Then the shorter man walked off.

And, okay, Ian knew he was a bit of a snob. Sometimes the fame got to his head. But there was literally no fucking way Mickey Milkovich didn’t know who he was if for no other reason than because Mandy posted pictures with him all the time.

Also, okay, maybe Ian was just a bit disappointed Mickey’s skin didn’t seem to light on fire the way Ian’s did when their hands touched.

But whatever. Ian was a professional. So what if Mickey was an asshole. Ian’s first job was to keep hitting the ball, and his second job was to keep up team unity! He’d be damned if some Ukrainian Southside wannabe asshole came in and fucked it up.

Gale had a very Herb Brooks circa 1980 attitude about not needing the best players but needing the right players, having the team play as a unit, etc. etc. Which was a lot easier to do when players weren’t going in and out of roster lists all the time. So Gale made it Ian’s problem.

As if Ian needed one more problem, Mickey was gonna make this way fucking difficult.


End file.
